By then I'll have drowned
out my heartbeats with footsteps

Thomas O’Keene, like most little boys,
imagined great things when he played with his toys.
In the big room that he shared with his brothers,
he would make a big tent with all the bed covers.
Inside his great castle, he played and he dreamed
of far away places and fabulous things.

He played giant robots, who came from the stars
with swords made of lasers and dinosaur cars.
He’d pretend to be the hero from his video games,
who ate yellow flowers and then shot out flames.
Thomas would tell tales of all that he saw
like the one-eyed stink monster with the big yellow claw;
a noisome creature to others unseen,
but was always around when Thomas ate beans.
Or how purple aliens had taken his juice,  
it was to fuel their invasion, of this he had proof.

“Thomas stop telling stories,” his mother would scold him.
Oh, how many times had she told him?
She sent him to bed,
and away slunk poor Tom hanging his head.
It was only ten past eight,
and he never got to stay up late.

Then Tom had an idea; he knew just what to do.
He’d show them that all of his stories were true.
He would build a machine so they could all see
the wonders thus far known only to he.

He found a box,
some stinky socks,
parts from a clock,
and a few small rocks.
Some peanut butter,
a toy boat rudder,
a number 2 ,
his brother's shoe,
and about two bottles of school glue.
A broken video game controller,
wheels from the baby stroller,
some batteries from the remote,
a rubber ducky swimming float.

He pulled and stretched,
pushed and vexed,
hammered and rammed,
and ******* and jammed.

Finally complete,
though not very neat,
he sat down for the start of his job
and slowly turned a big red ****.

But nothing happened. What could be wrong?
He didn't know why it wouldn't turn on.
The machine was no good, and this made Tom sick.
Frustrated, he gave it a great big kick.
The machine came to life. It sputtered and whined,
and up rose a wisp with a faint scent of pine.  
Then, came a rumble that shook the whole room
followed shortly by a great big kaboom!
Thomas covered his ears and shut his eyes tight,
and what he saw when they opened was quite a sight.

There crouched down in his room
was a giant robot from an alien moon!
Then right beside it, as big as a could be,
was his dinosaur car, the T-Rex X3.
But this was not all that came from the machine,
other strange things began to be seen.
He had done it, they were all here,
here in his room so perfectly clear.
“You stay right here,”
he said with a cheer.

Now he ran to get his mother, father and brothers
to show them that these were not make-believe others.
Then, he heard a loud crash that came from his room.
He stopped in the hall and then came the boom.
Thomas rushed back and found a giant hole in the wall
almost 10 feet wide and 8 feet tall!
His robot was gone and so were the others,
and then he heard a call from his mother.
“Thomas O'Keene! What was that noise?!”  
Thomas thought quickly. “Um, just playing with toys.”
“Get back in bed!” was his mothers reply
to what was not really a lie.

Thomas was scared and didn't know what to do.
How could he fix this, he was all out of glue.
Then he saw a blue crayon and snatched it up quick.
He hoped this would work, it must do the trick.
On the cardboard box side he scribbled "reset."
then drew a big circular button and pressed it.
Thomas held his breath and thought as he did,
Why, oh why had he not built a lid?
He waited there silent for a moment or two,
then opened his eyes and just saw his room.

No holes in the wall, no great robot man,
just bunk beds and toys and the lamp on it's stand.
He looked down before him and beheld his machine.
"Never again..." thought Thomas and went off too his dreams.

We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.
Don't tell me, I say. I don't want to hear.
Did you ever, you start,
wear a certain kind of dress
and just by accident,
so inconsequential you barely notice it,
your fingers graze that dress
and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper,
you see it too
and you realize how that image
is simply the extension of another image,
that your own life
is a chain of words
that one day will snap.
Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands,
and beginning to rise heavenward
in their confirmation dresses,
like white helium balloons,
the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning,
and above all that,
that's where I'm floating,
and that's what it's like
only ten times clearer,
ten times more horrible.
Could anyone alive survive it?

Mosséd trees stand in respect,
a moment of silence.
Still breathing
but stillness dwells.
In amongst the green
a catharsis of orangey-red shades.
The Japanese maple poised,
chest puffed,
arms elegant.
Sight unstirred.

Guttural screams and the ****** beating churns all the more.
Walking west into the dying light, shadows linger about waiting to seize the Earth in their pseudo claws.
Twenty three miles to the next roadside solace, oasis of vending machine illumination,
the sickly sweet scent of ***** and pine trees, tall in the valley.
A symphony of dusk plays all around, echoes drive the wanderer ever forward, beyond the thin fabric of the known,
just outside the small town, big city, back yard chaos.
Letting the cards fall, jack of spades pops out his proud visage, lays in waiting to slay the king of diamonds and run with his rusted red crown. These are the dreams that stalk his mind, the arrowhead of onyx stone, seeking out the stag's flesh...
Awakes beneath a jagged tin roof on a bed of dead brown needles, damp from the night's war...
shadows are losing their grip as new life rises, standing with creaking joints, sore eyes.
Healing blisters in his worn down dime store boots that cling once more to the asphalt ,cool with the morn's wet kiss.
Nicotine courses through the veins alongside interstate twenty, as the faint remains of ash float over the lips to open air.
Once more the chatter falls silent, the invisible waves of a billion words gone as the road stretches out, mountains rise in the distance and there God sits, waiting...